


And in the dark, in the dark, the Thousand Eyes snap, and look aside.

by Stidean



Category: Carnivale, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Carnivàle setting, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Past Lives, Angel!James, Angel!Jim, Divine Powers, M/M, Nephilim, Paragons, angel!Mycroft, angel!Sherlock, angelic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stidean/pseuds/Stidean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do when the Usher of Destruction just wants to be a normal man who loves a doctor?<br/>James is a very reluctant and unaware, Dark Nephil. Sherlock is his counterpart. A very bored, very anxious, Light Nephil. Mycroft is the Herald, who must remain impartial. They have played this game countless times during eons of existence. And into this game, falls a wounded veteran, who no one seems to be able to place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> This has been rattling around in my brain for a long time. The series Carnivàle deserves a MUCH better adaptation than this one but this is the best I could come up with and I had to exorcise it out of my head.  
> This will be a two-parter. The first one has no dialogue, the second one has ONLY dialogue.

The carnivàle grew still, as James Awoke.  
It was alarming, to say the least: the rides growing quiet, slowly coming to a loud screeching stop as metal grinded to a halt, Gods help the poor souls stuck on the Ferris wheel, unable to climb down. The vendors, some of them covered in quarts of blood, completely deserted their stands, leaving the wares behind as they knocked over any inanimate object in their path. People stuck in the unmoving carts inside the 'FrightRide' were trying to convince themselves it was all part of the experience. Though, as the minutes stretched further and the screaming coming from outside no longer seemed to be coming from the premade and (if they were being less generous towards the nice people running the traveling faire) somewhat sad recorded sounds of terror, meant to instill fear in the passengers, they began to evacuate the darkened passages, acting exasperated and annoyed, no one willing to admit that panic was beginning to set within them. They walked calmly to avoid appearing as fools to complete strangers, instead of running away, tearing at their hair in an act of madness, as the people outside, who could see the swirling shadows and blinding light gaining volume, had done; and as the inhabitants of Jericho did before them. But there would be no trumpets to warn them, and there would be no walls collapsing before Joshua this time. Woe, woe, woe, woe, woe, the great city SodomJerichoBabylonColchesterRome, the strong city, for in one hour your judgment has come.  
  
The 'Being' that inhabited LotJoshuaAlexanderBoudicaConstantine several millennia ago was now known by another name, which he will discard as soon as he is done with it, exactly as he had done so many times before. And for every name 'Sherlock', as he was known in this incarnation, had put aside, so had his counterpart, who is known as 'James' in this incarnation, done as well. All they had to do was wake up. Sherlock had done so rather early, as 'Mycroft' had pointed out to him. For a nine year old, it was a violent transition, as his mind and soul (if you will forgive the somewhat clichéd imagery) aligned together and revealed his true nature to himself. And yet, the event left him with a satisfying feeling, as he finally understood himself completely. All emotional attachments died that day and he could not have been more relieved by the turn of events, as he had always found them to be inhibiting and required, not only constant nurturing, but also the use of social skills which, frankly, baffled him.  
  
James, on the other hand, had reached 27 years of age and did not show any signs that he was going to Awaken any time soon. It frustrated Sherlock, since he could not make his move until the "playing field" was leveled between them. He had consulted 'Mycroft the Herald', who happened to be his biological brother in this lifetime, many times on the subject, but was only told to be patient; an answer which only served to infuriate him further. To say he was not particularly attached to his 'brother', before his Awakening, would have been somewhat understated, but since they no longer had to play up the part of brothers, at the very least within private quarters, the freedom had forced on them a strange animosity neither of them could explain. Certainly as a neutral party to the never-ending battle being fought between the two Ushers, Mycroft was bound to help neither side in their earthly struggle. His role was advisory only, and as such, he could not explain to Sherlock the nature of the delay in James' Awakening. This was a great relief to Mycroft, since it freed him from having to explain something that, were he being honest with himself, he could not. The Paragons themselves, whom he sounded on the matter, could not give him a straight answer, though, to be fair, they never did. The ridiculous act of creating divine factions had made a mess of the Republic of Heaven. God's departure, several millennia ago, had left them directionless and prone to doubt. Listless and bored they sought entertainment and so, they set in motion the mechanism to give the cunning ape the ability to evolve and use tools. And to these newly evolved creatures, the Paragons sent leaders; creatures of light and darkness. The Ushers, as they were called, and their assembled armies clashed, the sounds of battle ringing to the cheers of the Paragons. They had found their means of entertainment, to repeat itself in countless variations throughout time.  
  
But the question of James and his Awakening was an embarrassing subject for them. It seemed to suggest a certain kind of reluctance on the Dark One's part. Maybe even a desire to shirk his role as the Usher of Destruction, which he had never failed to relish in. His last incarnation, in particular, by using men's most primal fears, he spent trying to tear the world asunder. But now the Paragons were becoming bored again, and so was Sherlock.  
  
And then, James Awoke.  
  
Sherlock and Mycroft had suspected the wheels for his Awakening had been set in motion after so long, by the appearance of John; 'John the Cleric' as Sherlock and Mycroft dubbed him. He had come to them a "lost soul", aimless and wandering after receiving his injury during his military tour of Afghanistan. James took an instant shining to him, as he did with almost everyone. John's use of divine powers, discovered accidentally by Molly when she caught him attending to Messalina Adler, or Lena as she was called by everyone, was innocently reported, with alarm and respect, to Mycroft by her. Lena, a girl of no more than nine, had taken a tumble and had broken her arm, and in John's panic, never having attended during his military career to a child, he immediately repaired the damage without taking her to the medical tent he had worked so hard in setting up months earlier, when he had joined them on the road. The carnies, especially the rousties, were more than happy to have a medical practitioner joining them, as accidental injuries were a common enough occurrence on the road, and the nearest doctor was always located at the safe distance the carnivàle kept from the nearest town. The carnivàle always attracted people looking to hassle the "Freaks": Fortune tellers, contortionists, fire breathers… the clowns got the brunt of it and Molly had a hard time of it. In these unfortunate occasions, James was always more than eager to show them the way out, but he seemed less enthusiastic about retribution when the fumes of his anger seemed to subside as he made his way back to the grounds. No one ever found out how he got them to leave every time, without there ever being a physical altercation, but Sherlock and Mycroft had their theories; 'Projection', most likely, or 'Mental obliteration'. Either way, it was a promising step that Sherlock relished, but after years of instances of rage building up within James, that led to hasslers being 'shown out', and James returning looking defeated rather than joyous at his small victories, Sherlock became that much more impatient for James' Awakening. He went so far as to sound Mycroft about the legality of any move made by him, or the Herald himself, that would "… encourage young James", as he put the question forth to the Herald, to finally assume his predestined role as the Usher of Destruction. Sherlock got his answer and, for the first time since his Awakening, felt fear. Mycroft had been so **VERY** eloquent in his answer, that the suggestion was dropped entirely and never brought up again. Sherlock, very reluctantly, conceded the point and resigned himself to wait.  
  
And so it was that James had become romantically attached to John during the months the young Doctor had spent with them. James' mother did not approve of the relationship, though how she conveyed it to the young man remains a bit of a mystery to John, since she was completely catatonic and had not left her bed of her own volition since giving birth to James. He was not much liked by his mother, although through no action of his own, but rather because of the unfortunate circumstance of his birth. Hippolyta "Lyta" Moriarty was the carnivàle's card reader, and after James' birth, was allowed to become somewhat of a burden on the rest of the crew, at least until James grew old enough to be of some use. A lucky turn of events from Sherlock's point of view, for if the crew had been more cutthroat, they would have left Lyta and her child to fend for themselves and James would have become lost in the childcare system and much harder to track down and observed. By the time Mycroft had taken over the carnivàle, James had become old enough to read the cards through his mother, and his young age made him a further draw for the crowds. James was asked many times how it was that he could hear her predictions in his head and yet could read no one else's mind. Naturally, he had no answer to give them and the crew, who were used to the unusual, did not press the point and contented themselves with the idea that Lyta could simply project her thoughts to James. It did not occur to them that she did not do so for anyone else, even when found in great distress. Mycroft took over the carnivàle under the pretense of being the carnivàle's new manager, the company that ran it being bought right under them, and Sherlock was made his right-hand man. This position should in no way be construed as a show of partiality in any way on the Herald's side, but rather given to Sherlock because he had no other skill to peddle without revealing himself in a way that would compromise him and his divine position. His deductive skills would be of no use, even when warped, since the carnivàle already had a fortune teller AND a psychic. No one thought it in any way strange that an Oxford graduate and his Eton schooled younger brother, were now traipsing about the British countryside with a pack of neigh-vagabonds, who have been assembled together into some semblance of respectable showmen and women, under the banner of a carnivàle.  
  
James, who was kind to everyone, was surprisingly wary and guarded with both of them, which immediately diffused Sherlock's theory that James' kind and sweet nature was just a front. It appeared that James, tragically, was just a kindhearted and loving young man.  
  
There was no wariness on James' part, the day that John arrived; James was hooked. Even though the nature of their business not only afforded but required constant contact with strangers, it wasn't a usual occurrence for any of them to be overly friendly on a personal level with any of the customers. James went so far as to drag John through the carnivàle, after an hour of casual chatting, to his mother's caravan for a reading, all smiles and assurances on the way there; a reading which she was reluctant to give and John was even more reluctant to get. James was hurt by his mother's denial and said something without his voice which gained him a slap. A rare occurrence, for Lyta to use her telekinesis, and in front of a stranger no less. James held himself from retaliating because he did not wish to seem cruel and drive John away.  
  
During the evening, after the awkward conflict in the caravan was quickly pushed aside, John had shared himself with James, and James did the same in return. James cried that night; cried like a babe. There was something entirely disarming about John, and James, who had never shared himself with anyone, not because he guarded his stories but rather because he never thought they needed to be shared, unloaded all his grief upon John. Who but the kindest would have turned in horror from such an onslaught of emotional heart-pouring? But John held him through the worse, fell into his bed, and, despite himself, vowed to stay with James and the carnivàle knowing almost nothing about the life he had undertaken. But, lacking any direction in the figurative sense, he hoped the endless wandering according to a path chosen by someone else would at least put him on his way, and if this life is not forever, it could be a start.  
  
When Mycroft learned of the new stranger he seemed perplexed. Sherlock convinced himself it was feigned for the benefit of Irene, the exotic dancer and Lena's mother. Sherlock figured John was a wild card and this game had no room for them. Marc Anthony was one and they all knew how that story ended. But even back then Mycroft knew what he was and had even hinted how it would end for him. Same with Geoffrey II, Duke of Brittany. He, at the very least, as Sherlock thought amused, had the decency to die young. John was quickly put to work on building a medical tent, while Mycroft acted as quartermaster and supplied him with all he deemed necessary for the Doctor's job. It was an uphill battle, an argument for every ointment, pill and plaster. “Money is thin as it is”, what with people losing interest in being entertained by anything found away from their computers.  
  
But John was happy; truly happy. He and James fell into the relationship so easily and the road seemed that much less lonely. James' happiness was counterproductive and made for poor story telling. But what could be done? There were rules, and even the Paragons could not break them, after laying them down eons ago.  
  
On the night of the fire, Sherlock and Mycroft stood by and watched intently for any promising signs, as the flames licked the walls inside the small construct that used to house James and his mother. Lyta had called James, who was reluctant to go, having restricted his visits to her caravan for business and the minimum that was required of him as her nurse. He took John with him, though he couldn't explain to him why he needed him there, and so John waited outside as James stepped inside. She did not say why she had called on him when he asked her, in a small voice, the moment he came in, and James was perplexed as to why she had summoned him if she did not intend to explain herself. He became even more confused at the sight of all the lit candles, mostly because they did not use them unless it was "showtime", and they certainly never lit all of them at once, in order to preserve them longer, what with supplies having become scarce as customers began to dwindle, with James appearing less and less enthusiastic about performing them. Besides; Lyta's readings had slowly become a horror show; no longer a form of light entertainment, but instead had become an offering of the most brutal and honest information that could be conveyed: Children's deaths, horrible accidents, bankruptcy, diseases, suicides... At one instance he had revealed an incestuous relationship between a brother and a sister to their horrified mother and another time, when asked about a husband's waning sexual interest towards his wife, who was their customer, James revealed it was due to his depraved sexual relationship with their mentally challenged son. In the last fortnight, things had escalated to such a degree, that James would no longer be able, at a certain point during the readings, to contain the truth, by avoiding eye contact, stammering, making up "truths" of his own instead of the brutally honest images he was being bombarded with which he was trying so hard from spilling out, but, as if by a power coming over him, the prophesying came as from a multitude of voices crying out in a chorus, the sound deafening to all who were to be found in the faire ground. Customers fled before he was finished, running from the carnivàle grounds. Yet even then he would continue, "his-their" booming voice carrying for miles and scaring but the boldest of customers, whose interest was piqued by the spectacle, rather than assuaged by it. The carnies and rousties began to avoid him. They were scared of his revelations, no longer convincing themselves it was a simple parlour trick.  
  
It was only his pride that kept him from giving up on the whole business completely, and to start living with John without a means for income. He couldn't put such a burden on John, who was barely able to care for himself on the wages being given to him. Besides, ever the optimist, James hoped his mother would eventually heal from whatever maligned her mind which forced him to channel the most abhorrent imaginings she had ever subjected him to.   
  
A few days before the fire, she showed him his own violent conception. He heard shouting from her trailer and ran inside. Before him he saw, with graphic detail, his mother being brutally raped. As soon as he composed himself, and made a lunge at the man to tackle him away from his mother, he snapped out of his daze and found himself staring at the bed his mother had occupied since he was born. When he asked her who that man was she started screaming at him that he wasn't meant to see that, over and over despite him pleading for her to stop. He had to run away from her, and spent most of the night in the moors where the carnivàle had made their temporary home. He was positive it had been done by accident and that her mind was losing its tight grasp on the things she used to hide from him.  
  
John had to go look for him and he was terrified James would do something to himself before he found him. He did find him, by following a trail of burned and ashen ground, and when he neared the sobbing young man, the scene that John was met with was something he could not grasp completely. James was on a flat rock found in a clearing with a small stream beside him. But the stream was not moving and the rocks around him had become dislodged from the earth that had housed them and were suspended in the air without moving. The machinery of nature returned to function as soon as John laid his hand on James’ shoulder, and as he led him away, all James could do between sobs was to exclaim, again and again, that he finally understood his mother's hatred. James was inconsolable that night because he did not know, until then, of the circumstances that led to his own conception and birth.  
  
After several minutes more, spent waiting for his mother to tell him why he was summoned, James asked her flatly why she had called on him, and when she still would not answer and appeared to stare ahead with a blank expression, he drew close with apprehension. As he reached to feel for her pulse, she took hold of his wrist in a grip so tight, she left bruises that wouldn't fade even weeks after, a constant reminder of what she did next.  
  
James screamed for her to let go and became extremely alarmed as she yelled in his head the single word "Omega". The candles, dozens of them, went flying and seemed to purposely hit every single flammable object within the caravan. The fire spread so quickly, that John had almost no time to react to James' cries for help. The door seemed to be fused solid and unmovable. Soon, a crowd had gathered, mainly formed of the nearest rousties who had left their work half done to come and see what had sounded such an alarm. It took five men, all kicking at the door, to gain entrance, but only John, covered in ice cold water, which was brought in a bucket chain, went in to save them. The seconds stretched to hours outside the caravan for the gathered crowd, some sobbing in fear. Mycroft and Sherlock, who were not allowed to intervene in any way, waited to see who, or what, would come out. Finally, John tumbled out holding onto the hysterical James, who was screaming for his mother to die. He could hear her, her agonizing cries bouncing in his mind and leaving no room for rational though: "JUST DIE ALREADY!"  
  
And then it happened, though James, for as long as he remained ‘James’, would never admit it to himself. He consciously used the powers of the Usher, and killed his mother by stopping her heart. Sherlock and Mycroft knew it at once, as they felt the pull of the taut divine strings. It weakened them, for it was an unnatural use; a mercy killing being performed by a being that should know no mercy.  
  
James was on the edge of the precipice, and his awakening seemed imminent. It took John days of pleading to convince James to come out of his temporary caravan, an unused relic which was mainly used for storage and was in a state of disrepair. John's own caravan had been their dwelling for a very long time, after he purchased it with what was left of his savings, as soon as he realized he was dedicated to James and life as the carnivàle doctor. It wasn't grand, but they had made it into a comfortable home, since James was reluctant to stay with his mother any longer, and now found that he couldn't, because there was nothing left of it but rubble.  
  
James was stuck. He had no skill to offer the carnivàle and would not yield to John’s pleading that there was no reason he couldn’t take care of both of them. Also, James no longer had the same sunny disposition he once had and began attacking the people near him with information they did not want to hear: Molly knowing she was cheated on by Lestrade, the animal keeper, and was willing to forgive his indiscretion; Lena’s father being the head of the rousties, Moran; Irene being rejected by Sherlock countless times. All secrets that were better off unspoken. John could not understand what had come over the young man he loved so much and who appeared to become more and more emotionally distant every day, and more and more violent when they made love.  
  
Sherlock was happy though. He was finally beginning to see the end of it all and the beginning of something new. And then it happened.  
  
John Watson “The Cleric” got shot in the stomach while trying to protect James from some hassling teens, with too little brains and a gun that was stolen from one of their dads; before John had even hit the ground, all five youths erupted from the inside like large animals that had died in the desert sun, their organs sprayed into red streams, covering all who stood nearby. Sherlock contained James in a flash and kept him from causing any more damage during his alignment. He had been waiting for it for so long, that he knew exactly what would be needed at the moment of Awakening. He had had it all wrong, all along. James didn’t need to be pushed to the precipice slowly; he always retreated back to his starting point, now faster than ever, since the good doctor had come into his life. No. James needed one big push that would propel him to his true self.  
  
As the faire ground cleared of screaming mortals, the ones in the Ferris wheel no doubt transported by Mycroft to keep things simpler, Sherlock waited, and this time he didn’t mind the wait at all, because James had finally opened his eyes…


	2. After

And James Awoke.

 

"Wha… Oh… Ooooooh! This is wonderful!" exclaimed James enthusiastically "Oh the freedom! What's this? I can fly? No need for wings?" He searched for Sherlock, and when he found him some distance away, he directed his comments at him. "Things HAVE changed much, haven't they. Well, I guess they were cumbersome, though attractive. Wait… When am I?" James seemed perplexed. "What… Hm… things are still not… quite… right…"

 

James looked around, picking up on the caravans circling the carnivàle rides, the pool of blood under his feet. The skies had darkened and the few who hadn’t managed to get away in time, in addition to the bold and curious, were stopped in time in a comical fashion. James could make out poor Molly, nearby, being helped up by Lestrade, Molly covered in teenage blood because it had been poor Molly, as always, who was being accosted by the teenagers, who were now no more than ruptured organ sacks.

 

"Just hold still. The containment chamber is very small as it is, and if it's any comfort to you, it won't hold you for very long. Just long enough for you to go through the transition without doing any damage. You don't know much now, but slowly it will come to you and then we can begin." Sherlock was in his full regalia, as was James, and he smiled proudly at the chance of finally wearing it instead of the drab "costumes" he had to put on, day after day, to pass off as one of the mortals that worked the faire. "You sure took your sweet time and getting here. The wasted decades and then that insipid romance with the doctor. All that time gone. Still. You’re here now. Till you get your bearing, if you like, I can fill you in on…"

 

"GODS, you do love the sound of your _'CaesarCiceroTiroClaudioPompeyCrassusPoisonExile'_ own voi… Oh, OH! Oh Gods… did you LOVE to talk. You just couldn't shut the FUCK up, could you, Cicero?"

 

"That is not my name now, and I never heard you complain."

 

"It was… it was a different time. People with the power to move men to action through language were seen as… well, never mind. Besides, I was in no position to object. As Caesar I was hardly a mute, especially on the eve of battle, though Livy made me sound much more eloquent and refined than I truly was. Most of my speeches couldn't be made into epic tales so he had to… paraphrase, to put it mildly. Pollio caught him on it, though, the sly devil; a true Ulysses of the mind. He was in my army and crossed the Rubicon with me, so he knew what he was talking about."

 

"And you dare blame me for loving my own voice? I know all this. Why insist on bringing it all up now?"

 

"Give me a break; just starting to get the hang of this. _'RichardHenryEleanorPhillipGeoffreyAliceMarriageCrownAquitaineKnives'_ How impatient you are now, same as when you were Richard Plantagenet."

 

"You dare?!? You connived with Phillip against our father, the King, because you couldn't wait to gain the throne. I hardly think that puts you in any position to call me out on it."

 

"That was not my fault! The Paragons made me… slightly less intelligent, that time around. Geoffrey, that snake, convinced me. Gods, that Christmas was a nightmare. Mother was on top form, though."

 

"Eleanor, not 'Mother'."

 

"Don't be pernickety. Need I remind you that YOU were her favourite? Hm. You always were quick to abandon emotional attachments. _‘BoudicaPrasutagusIceniNorfolkWillNeroAgripinaAndrasteColchester’_ Almost always…"

 

"You be QUIET!"

 

"Huhuhuhuhuh…" he laughed deeply "Never rooted out your loooooooove for him. Well, you were a Warrior Queen, after all; Very passionate; All Celtic blood and no inhibitions to speak of. Rather naughty, of me, to have ignored his Will, but… flogging you and the raping of your daughters… well. That was just a bonus."

 

"I showed you, though. What was it? Close to fifty thousand casualties and the Legio IX Hispana completely destroyed? All done by one woman, using only her words as her weapon, managed to amass the British clans in rebellion. You were impressed, admit it. And it did make for some very interesting times. One of our best incarnations…” and at this, he looked up, “from their point of view, at least."

 

"Well, we did win at the end, so what are fifty thousand men? Soldiers, at that… soldiers…"

 

"What? What is it?"

 

"None of your damn business. Now, LET ME OUT!"

 

"Not before you align completely. Your powers are still in flux and you might compromise the whole process and end up killing yourself or…"

 

"Who? You? Oh, are you afwaid of wittle me? You? The man with all the answers? Wait, no… not all. Wait. Where's John?!?"

 

"John?” Sherlock appeared truly dumbfounded “Why do you care?"

 

"What do you mean, what do I care? Have you been paying any attention for the last 8 months?!?"

 

"I ALWAYS pay attention! What I mean is that you should not be concerned with his fate. We have a duty before us and…”

 

“TO HELL WITH DUTY! Where **IS** he, Sherlock?!?” Sherlock did not answer. “Letmeoutletmeoutletmeoutletmeoutletmeoutletmeoutletmeoutletmeout…” he attacked his prison, from all sides, with all he had.

 

“ENOUGH!” The Herald’s disembodied voice bellowed, and James quieted. “The fate of the human…”

 

“He is not a human!”

 

“You will not interrupt me, Dark One! The fate of the **human** … is none of your concern anymore.” The Herald appeared at the side of the Usher of Salvation.

 

“He’s alive.” James smiled to himself “He’s alive, otherwise you would have simply told me he is dead, if he weren’t alive.”

 

“Believe what you will. It is irrelevant.”

 

“Mycroft,” Sherlock turned and whispered, falling back on to old monikers. “Why does it matter? He’s no more important than Marc Anthony was. Just tell him where he is. If the poor man is not dead yet, he will be soon enough.”

 

“No, he won’t. I’ve put his passing on stasis.”

 

“Why have you… WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!? WHAT IS HE?!?”

 

“Nothing to concern yourself about.”

 

Sherlock replied, indignant “This is not to be borne. I demand…”

 

“YOU DEMAND?!? You demand of the Republic of Heaven to explain its’ actions to you, former Seraph?!? Do not presume! You are no more a pawn than he is. Now, if you are both quite finished, you will both come to terms on the rules of engagement. You will decide how this fight is going to be carried out, whether by a duel or by amassing armies to your cause. One is obviously more rewarding but also immediate, while the other is more cumbersome and drawn out but requires far more skill.”

 

“I am not fighting. You will explain, to my satisfaction, what is John’s significance to The Paragons and this game, or I will lay down my weapons and let Sherlock take my life without making a sound. See how your Masters enjoy **THAT** show.” and his containment chamber shattered, no longer capable of holding him. He rose off the ground and glided towards them, while keeping a safe distance. “Did it not strike you as odd that, for the first time in **ALL** our incarnations, we have been allowed to wield the Heavenly Weapons? Come now, Sherlock. Surely even you must have felt it amiss.”

 

“There was one other time, during Martin Luther’s rise, the weakening of the Church and the waning of Man's faith in the divine. The idea was the same as it is now: to turn Men back to belief in the celestial, by bringing back the days of Miracles. Unfortunately, you died of the pestilence **BEFORE** your Awakening, which is why you can’t remember it, and I died **DURING** mine, because I was unfortunate enough to have had it happen while I was out in public and not near enough to reach shelter, the panic it caused costing me my life. They were very quick. Besides, there was no need to do what The Paragons intended. Things went back to how they were before, rather quickly, so there was no reason for another round of… shall we say, Fire and Brimstone.”

 

“And now, people don’t believe in anything unless it has a price tag on it. The Paragons have become envious of the IKEA catalogue, and so they bring us in, to sow fear in the hearts of men…”

 

And just the same as during his final days as a card reader for his mother, so now did The Paragons speak through The Herald, the multitude of voices making a sound that was deafening and terrifying, and yet, The Herald’s own voice could sometimes be heard when The Paragons made certain statements, statements he no doubt agreed with.

 

“Little Flame, who once held the Turning Sword. You will do as you are commanded. The desire to destroy has been placed within you long ago, and you can not deny it from yourself. You may threaten to lay down your life as many times as you want, but you know well enough that you can’t escape what is your very reason for existence. The Alpha and the Omega must serve their respective purposes.”

 

“Then you should never have sent John.”

 

“What... how could you possibly…" The Herald raised his head, as if calling on Heaven, "Revisions in the text!” they did not expect James to realize the interference. After several minutes of silence, The Herald lowered his head sharply and continued, “The being known as John is a miscreation of a certain faction within the Republic of Heaven. It was a device that was originally intended to be used from the beginning but discarded as too obtrusive. Your last incarnation proved to be too volatile, mainly attributed to the fact that you had been unopposed for almost four centuries, while the Usher of Salvation ran from his duties, as you desire to do now, and wandered the earth, first as a male, and then as a female, known as Lord Orlando Holmes. It was she who gave birth to The Herald’s biological receptacle, also known as Mycroft, after becoming pregnant by Marmaduke Bonthrop Shelmerdine, and it was she who, close to forty years after the Usher of Destruction’s last downfall, realized the horror he is capable of, when completely unopposed, uninhibited and unrestrained:- your route followed from Guy Fawkes, to Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, to Maximilien de Robespierre, to Jack the Ripper, and finally, to your last avatar, among others. She did not give birth to the Usher of Salvation’s new form, known as Sherlock, but rather, relinquished her own body and **became** Sherlock; hence his surprisingly fast alignment. And then your own former manifestation died roughly at the same time in Guatemala, and not incinerated in that ditch as it is duly reported in every history account of your former's death. And so, around the time that Lady Orlando Holmes became Sherlock Holmes, your former self relinquished his life and became you, James.”

 

“And John? How does he fit into the eternal struggle?” James pressed the point.

 

“If you, are the Usher of Destruction, and he,” at this, the possessed Herald pointed at Sherlock “is the Usher of Salvation, both representing the two opposing wills of the Republic of Heaven. Then John” and at this, John, naked and unconscious, the wound still gaping open but no longer bleeding, appeared in a containment chamber identical to the one that had held James earlier “represents the interests… of Humanity.”

 

“So, he is one of us.” James exclaimed, as he neared the indestructible glowing sphere.

 

All three parties stated angrily “HE IS NOT ONE OF US!”

 

“Paragons, Seraphim or Nephilim, you mean?” he asked, defiantly, as he turned for a moment from looking at John’s body.

 

“Neither one nor the other." Answered The Paragons "If he dies, and his role is deemed necessary, which it won’t, I assure you, then he will die as all mortals die and his mantle will be passed down to another; a being completely unconnected to him, who will gain no former knowledge in the way the Ushers do upon their Awakening.”

 

“Please… I beg you… let me talk to him.” Mycroft’s impassive features, during his possession, could not convey the shock that would have mirrored Sherlock’s, had he been in possession of his faculties.

 

“We will not grant you this. His intervention was a misguided experiment, at best, and will not be repeated.”

 

“Then I surrender.” And at this he lowered down to the ground, drew his flaming sword from its sheath and laid himself, and the sword, on the blood covered earth, the sword lain paralleling his arms, which were drawn away from his body, as a man before his execution. Sherlock, who had been respectfully quiet for most of this exchange, finally interposed.

 

“This is absurd. You would upset the order that has governed the world for epochs, simply for a simple, mortal man? Do you have any idea what my existence was like when I wandered the earth? The aimlessness and lack of purpose. I had grown so disgusted with myself I actually became someone else entirely at a certain point. I was trying to run away from myself and The Paragons thought it would be fitting, in some divine sense of humour, for me to become myself again, and have me call it change. I paid dearly for those four hundred years, and so had humanity. Do not repeat my own mistakes. It is futile. He will die, as all humans die, and you will feel his loss every single time you Awaken, just as I feel the loss of Prasutagus every time I do."

 

"Then destroy me now. Return me to the Fire from which I came and take this burden away. I will not continue on, and I will not live another life that does not include him."

 

"That," answered The Paragons "is not possible. The balance of earthly existence can not be put off kilter in such a monumental way."

 

"Then I will pass the Veil on to a replacement. There must be someone. Please. If Sherlock wants to continue with the struggle, he may do so, but I will not go on."

 

"Could not another be found?" Sherlock interceded, surprising James. "Is there no one who could take up the Veil? The Republic has enough Seraphs languishing in boredom. Could none be enticed to take up arms?"

 

"And why would we consent to that?"

 

"Because I have served you during time beyond reckoning! Because it is not just mortals who have been given, by the God who has abandoned us, the right and privilege to choose our own destiny! I want a life that is **mine**! Mine to make, mine to destroy and mine to rebuild. I want to live with that man. I want us to marry. I want to have his drunken sister embarrass us during the ceremony, for his father to not show up because his son is marrying a poofter, for his mother to cry loudly and for our friends to make far too humiliating speeches. I want to dance badly out of synch with him and fall on my ass, and for him to pick me up off the floor and make me feel it's OK. I want us to be too drunk to make love that night and, instead, just dry-hump awkwardly. I want us to get boring jobs which drive us crazy. I want to adopt a Chinese baby and rescue her from the horrible orphanage she has been thrown into. I want to make mistakes with her and force her to take up hobbies she despises. I want John to persuade me that no matter what I hope and dream for her, the most important thing is for her to end up being happy. I want John to grow bored of me after ten or fifteen years and have an affair, maybe even with a woman. I want to find out about it and tear him a new one. I want to start divorce procedures and feel devastated as I fill out the forms. I want John to beg for my forgiveness and for me to torture him for some time till I realize I am nothing without him, and he realizes he is no one without me. I want to die with him. And I want that, to be the last thing I ever do."

 

"You are quite right, Nephil. You have the right to choose. But you can not hope to dictate what the routes you have to choose from are! We will not release you, and you will go on or be destroyed. Those are your options. You have been given the right to choose. Do so now."

 

James considered, and at length, he gave them his answer.

 

"No. No, those are not my only options. John was not just put in my path to represent humanity. He is a fail-safe. You said so yourself: 'A faction within the Republic'. Some of you have decided to change things. Some of you… wanted a different story. Why do they not speak up now? They must have waited long enough. Please, give me my right."

 

Mycroft remained silent for a very long time. A debate, none of them were to be made privy to, was being held by the governing entities. James' remarks had finally hit home and he hoped against all reason that someone up there was fighting for him.

 

"We have come to a decision regarding your supplication for free will. The Archangel Uriel has willingly offered himself to take your place, former Dark One, and you, will get the freedom you desire. However, the mortal's life remains in peril and there is nothing that can be done to change that. He can not use his powers to heal himself, just as he tried to do when he was first wounded in his shoulder. You will have to act quickly. Once we remove our presence, his stasis will not hold, and his life will begin to fade fast. His wounds are life-threatening. Just hope you still have friends to lean on,” and at this, James immediately spared a glance at Molly and Greg “who have not deserted these grounds at the first emergence of your Angelic wrath”

 

And just like that, they were gone, and the earth shook no more, and the skies were no longer dark, and time moved forward, and John fell to earth towards James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is. It's just something I needed to write since Johriarty is my favourite pairing, along with Martin Crieff and Henry Knight.  
> I made many allusions to historical and literary figures. I would be glad to explain any point but Wiki can do a better job of it anyways :P  
> Hope you enjoyed.


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